Morning's Stroll

This morning Min Min and I walked up the hill in front of our house. Well to be more accurate I carried Min Min up the hill, and we both walked down.

When I reached the top of the hill, I stopped and just looked around for a bit. The early morning fog was still in evidence. Giving the rolling hills and craggy bluffs a look of misty illusion. Not so thick that you couldn’t see through it, but a light mist or fog, as you will.

There was a morning concert as well. The crickets were singing, or rather fiddling their legs. The neighbor’s bull was serenading the cows. Off to the north I could hear a coal train rumbling along the tracks, and a mile to the south the sound of tires singing on the highway. Not the roar of traffic you hear in the city, but an occasional solo of singing tires.

Morning doves were greeting the day as well; their voices a melody across the waving pasture grass. As the sun rose a bit higher in the sky and the mist receded for the day; meadowlarks joined in the morning song.

As Min Min and I meandered back down the hillside, she stayed very close to my side. After we closed the gate to the yard fence behind us she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief and trotted off, about the yard.

I went in the house and brought my morning coffee out to the zero gravity loungers to enjoy the morning bliss a bit more. As I was sipping my steaming cup of Joe, I heard the reason she was so close.

A faint yip yip, howl, then another and another. The neighbor’s burro started braying a warning as well. Cheyenne and LuLu were patrolling the perimeters of the yard fence, and then the entire kennel started a howling concert.

I had looked around as I went out the gate this morning. As I surveyed my line of vision came across chickens, ducks, cats, guineas, of course our yard dogs, and a wealth of tall grasses and weeds. This has been a wet season for here, so the grasses and weeds have flourished.

I didn’t see any predators other than those sailing on outstretched wings in the sky. The grasses and weeds shield a multitude of life. As it was this morning the pack of hunting coyotes were shielded by the range grasses as they looked about for their breakfast.

Min Min is a small Pomeranian, so given the opportunity they would include her in their menu. Hence her decision to stay very close to my side. Min Min has lived out here for the majority of her life and has become more aware of the cycle of life on the range.

For now she is happily curled up in her bed taking a nap after her brief walk; and I am on with my day.

Life is a journey… enjoy the view along the way.
Mary E. Robbins
Robbins Run Ranch

When I was a kid I was terrified of the year 2000

Today is the 21st of August, in the year 2009. Wow, when I was a kid I was terrified of the year 2000. The year I turned 40. I remember the day it hit me. I had been counting down the years until I was out of school. Grade school, junior high, then highschool, were the years in my countdown. I hadn’t conceived of college at that point. All those years seemed like an eternity. Not the word that came into my mind at the time. At that time it was FOREVER. 40 years old, that was so old, it was really scary to me at the time.

When I remember these thoughts; the vision and smells of walking along the dirt road that led to the family home I grew up in comes to mind. Dappled sun streaming down through 100 plus year old cottonwood trees. The sounds of crickets, and grasshoppers. Always on the lookout for snakes. Terrified of the sound the big grasshoppers made when they jumped/flew away. I thought that was the sound rattle snakes made. Summers that stretched on for years in a child’s mind. An eternity in school each year. I loved to read and learn, but I was a shy child and did not like school. Very shy, and highly intelligent does not make for smooth communication in grade school.

I was more comfortable with dogs, cats, cows, and horses than with most people. They were what they were, not so confusing. With the other kids they would speak, and to me their words could have meant 4 or 5 different things depending on which logic tack you took. I had no idea what they meant, so I usually ended up looking at them like they had 2 heads and one was spinning around.

I’ve since learned, to pick the simplest tack, when people are speaking and most of the time that is what they mean. Not always, lol, there are others like me. That was a happy discovery, lol.

At any rate as I child I sought out other people that were different than what seemed to be the norm. Usually Mexican kids. At that time anyone with darker skin was “Mexican” didn’t matter if they were Indian, east Indian, or whatever, they were Mexican. Usually they didn’t speak as much English, and I didn’t speak much of their first language.

As a result of the differences in our languages, we didn’t use them so much. Didn’t talk so much with words. We communicated with gestures, and played together. Just enjoying life together without all the clutter and cruelties of speech.

To this day I love the sound of “Mexican” music. It triggers a feeling of happiness and warm sunny summer days in my soul and mind. What can I say, if it has a latin rhythm to it, it makes my heart happy.

I grew up loving dark eyes and black hair and all the richness of the varied skin tones. When I hear Spanish being spoken wherever I am, I feel as if “ ah… I’m home”

Here is the irony in that. I still am not fluent in Spanish, I understand some, enough to communicate, but am far from fluent. As a child I had very bright flaming red hair, freckles scattered across, extremely Anglican skin. I was very light skinned. Sunburn central, the lobster girl with blisters, and flaming hair.

My current life has called for my attention… broke my train of thought… must go for now….
M

His Life is Done Under This Sun...

Uncle Clarence is no longer trapped in a deteriorating body. He has officially vacated its crumbling façade. My hope is that he is happy and free since his passage.

Although truth be told, I think he and his younger brother Gene, who crossed over sometime before. Are playing about doing a bit of visiting. Perhaps it’s my imagination, but I keep catching the scent of old fashioned Lysol. Uncle Gene used to wash his clothes in it for some reason, and whenever he was around the scent used to waft it’s way around the house. Before you ask, no I have no old fashioned Lysol in my house.

Some will nod their heads and say, yes you have visitors. Other’s will think my nut is cracked.

I’ve noticed as I spend more time in this life that those things I thought were thus and so. As in this is the way it is and that’s that. Are more often than not, other than the rule that was proclaimed. Rather than being scary to see that this life is full of mysteries, as is the passage to the next, I find it a continual amazement full of adventures along the way.

I heard someone trying to explain away the amazing peace that comes with near death and death experiences. I knew when I heard their explanation that they actually did not know. That they were regurgitating what they had been trained to say. I knew this because I do know, been there, felt that. The peace was absolutely wonderful, so freeing. Before anyone says, oh yes it was a lack of oxygen and other such nonsense. That wonderful peace stayed with me for about a week after I came home from the hospital.

I thought of Clarence’s passing and the pain he has had to endure over the past few months, and I thought his death was a gift of freedom to him. I am not so selfish as to begrudge his passing. A bit jealous perhaps, and panicked at being left behind. But I wish him well and look forward to visiting with him again as I pass through to the other side. If that is to be, it will be if it tis not then not.

To me the time of death should be a celebration of the person’s life that has passed on to the other side. And a bon voyage to the traveler. Lift a glass, smoke a cigar, say a prayer, wish them well. Their time here is done, tis time to move on.

Be happy for them, and glad for the time you had together.

Life is a journey…enjoy the trip
Mary E. Robbins